Page 57 of Red Hot Roaster

Chapter 29

Rafe

It was Monday morning of Thanksgiving week, and I was totally fucked up.

I stood in Rose’s bathroom shoving my shaving gear, toothbrush and paste, deodorant and other stuff into my Dopp kit. I’d been using her shampoo in the shower—something that smelled like roses, believe it or not. Kinda girly, but why dupe when you didn’t need to? I aimed to get her a replacement bottle today and go back to my old generic brand.

I was lying. Lying to myself, worst of all.

I was going to buy two bottles of the flower-scented shampoo, one to give to Rose and one to use in the bathroom back at the garage apartment. It’d be a reminder of the best shower sex in my life—well, the only shower sex, if I was honest with myself.

Rose had asked me to move back into the apartment before Finn and Lauren arrived this evening. They were expected in time for dinner. Finn was staying in his childhood bedroom and Lauren in Rose’s old room.

I got it. I did. And respected it. From Rose’s viewpoint, she wasn’t throwing any new stuff Finn’s way right on the heels of his first semester at college and the first Thanksgiving without his grandmother. She was a good mamma, the best.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t feeling the loss though. Hard.

Usually I kept that shit under check. I stuffed any feelings away and moved on—literally. I couldn’t afford them if I were traveling light.

This time, not so much.

It wasn’t only the daily, sometimes twice daily, lovemaking I’d miss. Although that was fucking spectacular. We’d christened the shower after the chocolate-tasting mess, and it’d become one of our favorite spots.

My lathered-up hands running all over her curves, inside and out. Kneeling in front of her, the water pounding on my back.

No, I’d also miss living with Rose. This was the first timeeverI’d lived with a woman,anywoman, my woman. That meant, while we occupied the same airspace, I claimed responsibility for her well-being—whether she liked it or not.

Yeah, I’d avoided looking out for others since getting out of the army—caring for Princess was about the best I could manage. Now I was getting all bent out of shape because I was headed back to that solo existence sooner than scheduled.

Go figure.

Of course, Rose had fought me tooth and nail on assuming too many duties. It had been a matter of “she said, he said.”

She’d saidI don’t need your help, I can do it on my own.I’d saidTough shit, if I’m living here, I’m doing my share to make your life easier.

I’d fixed her a hot breakfast every day because she tried to run out the door on a cup of coffee. I’d filled the grocery cart with healthy shit that she generally avoided in favor of ice cream. I’d dealt with household chores so she could crash after her busy days.

The thing I’d miss the most from living together? Drifting off to sleep curled around her and waking up still wrapped around her, shielding her.

Well, yeah, I’d also miss the talking—another first for me. Or, more, I’d miss listening to Rose talk.

Sure, I’d donesomesharing. Rose had coaxed me for my story in her gentle yet relentless way. I’d edited or skimmed over the details, leaving out the bleak parts of my foster experiences and the sad parts of losing brothers in the sandbox wars.

When she’d squeezed my hand while we walked the dogs or buried her face in my neck while we sat on the couch, I’d suspected she’d read between the lines.

What I hadn’t shared yet—what Pete had urged me to tell Rose—was the rest of my story. I was running out of time, and I hadn’t gotten to the parts I feared most.

Rocky had called over the weekend and said he wanted me earlier than planned. That meant leaving the roastery…and leaving Rose…by the beginning of the first week in December. I’d told Rose right away—it was only fair. Her face had dropped before she thanked me for letting her know. I hadn’t said anything about returning or about us, other than I’d roast as much coffee as I could before I left.

So I was both fucked upanda coward.

IknewI was a fucking coward the moment I considered writing the shameful parts of my past on those sticky note things she plastered everywhere. Before I could grab the pad and add some to the bathroom mirror, I pushed back from the sink.

Man up, soldier. Trust Rose with your entire story. She’ll understand why you’re not good enough for her and why you have to leave.

I nodded at my reflection and walked out of the bathroom.Decision made.I wouldn’t put it off any longer. Well, any longer than one more week. I’d have “the talk” with Rose after the Thanksgiving weekend.

“What’s up, manito?”

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